There
comes a time every year when I know for sure that I’m going to be at my lowest
and most argumentative (at least with the members of my family). That’s the
time when I am forced to take down my Christmas décor for the year. Now, every
single time around, I try as hard as I possibly can to push it forward, begging
and pleading with my parents for permission to keep it all up for another day
or an extra hour. But inevitably, both, my folks and time get the better of me
and I have to succumb to the pressure and bring down all the finery. I have to
admit though, every year they offer to either help me with it or do it entirely
on their own. But somehow, unless I’m involved in the process and struggling
with it on my own, the season doesn’t seem complete for me. Weird, I know. But
then again, weird is my alias.
Anyhoo,
round about the 7th of the first month of every year, should you happen to pass
by my house, rest assured you’ll hear something that sounds like a cat being
killed. But don’t call PETA just yet – it will only be me caterwauling my
sorrow about having to bring down the festive decorations. For me, it’s a
depressing task to have to box away all that I associate with Christmas,
family, love, laughter, merriment, reunions and great times. But when you have
a relentless, pleading, emotionally-blackmailing voice in your ear (namely my
mum’s), you’ve just got to sit up, listen and obey.
So
there you’ll find me – in the middle of a mountain of boxes that seem to
multiply with each passing year, putting away all the merry little things that
bring joy to my life. Annoyingly enough, while I have the blessings of my mum
to just put them away any way I choose, my OCD kicks in and I find myself
painstakingly placing each shiny ornament in its original packing, box and/or
mould. Post that, every box has to be marked of course – how else would we know
what was in which box? Heaven forbid we should remind ourselves that they all
go in the same loft and that every box will be opened the next time around!
Also, never mind the fact that it takes me forever and deprives me of that
oh-so-important sleep that I so desperately need – I will maintain my pride
(and ego), do what needs to be done and won’t stop till every last Christmas
fluff has gone.
But
despite all my complaints and all my madness, there are mixed emotions that
creep in while packing away the baubles and bells – a huge sense of achievement
and satisfaction while gluing the orange ornament back together just because
it’s part of the set that mum and dad first bought after they got married;
nostalgia while untangling the thread on the beautiful, handcrafted, wistful
angel because it reminds you of the friend who gave it to you when moving
halfway across the world due to circumstances beyond her control; amazement
while sorting out the beautifully painted, wooden figures because you can only
imagine how long it took to give such great detail to something so tiny; joy as
you arrange the shiny stars in their box, not just because they’re your
favourite shape but also because you still can’t believe what a great deal you
got them for; and hope for a happier, peaceful, healthier year as you tie up
the last box and put it up in the loft…
So
till next Christmas my boxed up, shiny lovelies! Stay safe and hope and pray
that I’m allowed to bring you out and put you up at the very start of December!
